


Sepulture

by jury



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aroused Victim, Choking, Comeplay, Comes Back Wrong, Incest: one party feels too guilty about their desires to consent, M/M, Magic, Rituals, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-12 16:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21479482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jury/pseuds/jury
Summary: Endre is dead, but Raúl doesn't mourn. He has a task to complete. He has to bring him back.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Younger Prince Who Came Back Wrong/Older Prince Who Brought Him Back
Comments: 10
Kudos: 113
Collections: Naughty List 2019





	Sepulture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohmyvalar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyvalar/gifts).

> All thanks to my generous beta.

Raúl knelt and waited at the edge of his father's throne, the marble lip digging into the front of his knees. He was the picture of the mourning prince, his robes the colour of death blood, face smooth and downcast. Beneath that, he pinched and twisted the skin of his wrist, fighting to keep his expression steeled. 

"Was it poison?" his father asked. 

"The priests haven't told me, father," he said. He couldn't remember what he was meant to look like, nor what he was meant to say. He was being dragged down into a pit of despair, clawing at the edges until his hands were wet with his own blood. Endre dead — impossible. He had seen him at breakfast. Endre had been smiling. He was always smiling when Raúl was near, always turning towards him like he was a magnet. To never see him again — even now it felt like he was only in the next room. 

He was, Raúl realised, his heart beating an ugly tattoo. Whatever was left of him was in the next room. 

"Raúl," his father said, and he snapped his head back up to attention. The lapse of etiquette was forgiven, but only just. "Has there been no determination?"

_I don't care what killed him_, Raúl wanted to say, but for the fact it would mean lying still next to Endre in his cold, silent room. The thought of his own death didn't pain him so much as Endre's. If his father's wrath should strike, let it be after he had completed his task. Beyond his temper he could taste the edge of his wild, untamed power, magic deemed too chaotic to be used for anything useful like diplomacy or court entertainment. It burned too close to the limits of his control now, like a wildfire about to leap a road. It took all his might to push it down, unsure if his father had sensed its flare or not. "None, father," he said. 

"Then have the priests perform the ritual," his father said, his hand not moving on the arm of his throne. His face was expressionless. Raúl wanted to fling himself onto the throne and beg his father to say _something_ real, express some grief for his youngest son.

"It's my right, father," he said, trying to keep the tremble from his voice. "It's mine." _Endre's body is mine._

His father looked down on him; his eyes were dark enough that Raúl could not read what, if anything, lay in their depths. Was it suspicion? He couldn't suspect what Raúl was going to do. No one could. 

"Then perform it yourself," he said, and rang the silver bell that meant the court was over, accompanied by the sound of courtiers rising from their bows. Raúl rose as well, automatically judging the difference between haste and appropriate speed. His eyes, his mind and his body were fixated on the red-painted door at the corner of the hall, the paint still wet and sliding down the wood like thick blood. He made his way towards it, feeling like his feet were not touching the ground with each step, his slippers quiet on the marble. 

Behind the door was Endre. He was motionless, waxy pale beneath the summer glow of his skin, but beyond that — he could be sleeping, but for the way his eyes were still behind his lids. Endre's would have been moving. Endre was always dreaming. 

Raúl locked the door and stripped off his heavy mourning robe, so stiff with embroidery that it could almost stand on its own. It was a relief to be free of it. He wasn't mourning. Endre wouldn't be dead for long. 

It took an hour to draw the runes on the black floor beneath Endre's body, a mixture of chalk, gold, and Raúl's blood. He wasn't disturbed. No one came knocking on the door with a lash attuned for heretical mages, and no priest came by to take his mourning confession. What did they think he was doing? Not this, he thought, as he stripped Endre's clothes, smelling of sweat and death, and threw them into the brazier with the packet of secret herbs he'd carried in his sleeve. It smelled sweet and bitter at the same time. 

Naked, Endre looked as vulnerable and innocent as he had in life. His closed eyes led a dark sweep of long lashes across his freckled cheek, the sparse hair on his chest and thighs equally dark. His arms were well-muscled from training with the lance, and his legs from running. Raúl tried to avoid looking at his brown nipples, his soft cock against his thigh; his gaze lingered, eyes drawn to where they always where when Endre was naked. He wrenched them away; it felt impolite. 

Another set of runes to be written on Endre's skin. Raúl found himself hesitating, unsure if his touch would mar or venerate Endre's skin. He reminded himself of his motives — it was just in service to his task, he thought, not like finding an excuse to put an arm around Endre, or brush against him, lean on him in the guise of being tired. 

He was feeling dizzy, but whether it was from the herbs or his blood dripping into the chalice, he wasn't sure. His fingers were a clumsy brush and Endre was a cold, unforgiving canvas, but soon he was glowing where Raúl had marked him, thinking _mine, mine. Bring Endre back to _me. 

Finally, finally, it was done. Raúl caught his breath and bound his arm, pressing his hands down into the centre of the rune whorl. The chant that kept his power under lock and key unravelled from his lips until his skin was burning with power, a lightning-lick of it setting his body ablaze with blue flame. Joy leapt along with the fire, his fingers trembling on the stones. It was working, power flowing through him into the runes. It was like blowing glass, a delicate balance of breath and control, enough to feed the spell but not destroy it. His breaths were steady, but soon his body was vibrating with anticipation of seeing the spell complete — his mind wandered to seeing Endre's eyes open, a flush on his cheeks while his lips parted to give thanks — 

Raúl’s eyes flew open. The magic was too much, spilling out of the runes to pool at his feet. This was what he'd always been warned about. There was no way to regain control. He grit his teeth and tried to pull back, but it felt like reining in an unbroken horse. He'd always known repressing it would make it stronger, but it was too strong — out of control. He was nothing but a conduit for it, power pouring from his body and down into the runes, into _Endre_, who was bathed in it like a terrifying monument, like the sun hitting a bronze statue and setting it alight. It would burn Raúl’s veins from his body and consume him utterly — _worth it for Endre_, he thought, and closed his eyes, surrendering to the magic. 

It was quiet and dark when he opened his eyes. The brazier had blown out in a ghostly wind that still stirred the corners of the room, tugging at his thin underrobe. His fingers ached, the bones feeling shaken and bruised. There was nothing but a wisp of his power left, and it was sluggish and dull, curling down into his body. 

But Endre — Endre's eyes were open. His mouth, too, open and gasping for breath. 

Raúl forgot his manners, his well-trained courtly demeanour, and threw himself on Endre — forgetting, too, that he was naked. He flung his arms around him and pressed his face into Endre's shoulder, hot tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. 

"Brother," he said, in a voice half-cracked with weariness and emotion. "Endre."

Endre's mouth worked at the edge of Raúl's ear, a whisper that he could barely understand, a long-held exhale. "Raúl," he said, the brush of his lips dry and strangely hot. "Is this — am I dreaming?"

"No," Raúl said, and tightened his grip, perhaps enough to be a pinch. "You're not. I brought you back. I brought you back to me."

Endre shifted underneath him, working stiff muscles. Raúl felt his chest heaving, though the breaths that passed his ear were soundless, making Raúl shiver and raising goosebumps on the back of his neck. Endre's lips moved and he seized at Raúl's arms, no doubt looking for an anchor. 

"Why did — why did you wait so long?" 

Raúl frowned. "It's — It's only been an hour. Perhaps two."

"In the dark — " Endre said, his voice distant and far away. "The fallen stars — time must have been different there."

He wasn't making sense. Raúl didn't know what to say. "The family underworld?" he said.

A dry, humourless laugh came from Endre's lips — but it couldn't be his. That wasn't Endre's laugh, which was always contagious enough that it could draw a smile from the sternest tutor, the most severe knights. Endre's laugh didn't sound likethis dry rattle of bones. 

"So you couldn't last even an _hour_ without me, brother?" 

Endre raised a hand and wove it into Raúl's hair, pulling his head up from Endre's shoulder. His grip was like stone; Raúl had always been stronger, but he could not shift Endre's hand, even grabbing at his wrist with both hands. Raúl bobbed like a fish at the end of a line, the dim light from the guttering brazier only showing the edge of Endre's too-wide smile, the gleam of his teeth. 

"Endre — "

"'_My Endre_', you should say," Endre said, his tone too mocking. Endre would never — he would never — "Isn't that how you think of me?"

"No — "

"Don't lie to me," he said. His nostrils flared. "I can smell it. I can smell the lies on you. So many, so woven together that you even believe them yourself."

Raúl scrabbled at Endre's grip in his hair. Endre’s skin was so hot it felt like touching it burned Raúl, and he drew his hands back. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. 

"No?" Endre said. "I've always felt you watching me, but now I know why. You took any opportunity, didn't you, brother? The swimming lake, the bath — you think I never noticed you looking at my ass?"

It was outrageous. It was unbelievable. Endre would never say anything like — Endre blushed and ducked his head when a girl smiled at him. Not now. Endre's eyes burned with blue fire and they were locked on Raúl's, _knowing_ everything Raúl had ever thought about him and pressed down to the back of his mind.

"I've never looked at you," Raúl said. His face was burning hot, his hands uselessly pressed into Endre's chest. He saw Endre swallow, watched his throat bob with it. 

"You'd lie to me knowing I can tell?" Endre said. "You'd even say you've never touched yourself thinking of my thighs, my hips?"

"You're the liar," Raúl said, trying to hide the panic in his voice, the thump of it in his heart. "You're not — you can't be Endre." Endre wasn't so vulgar, so explicit. He wouldn't even notice Raúl looking — 

"I am," Endre said. He reached up and tore Raúl's robe from him in one movement, the thin fabric shredding from his body. Raúl gasped and tried to cover himself. "I'm the brother you pretend you don't favour. _I'm_ the one you call yours." His breath smelled like smoke and blood. 

Endre flipped them effortlessly, his arm a bar across Raúl's throat, forcing him to wheeze for breath. He pinched Raúl's nipples, pulled on them hard enough to make him shout, the runes on his arms and legs smearing onto Raúl's skin until he, too, was patterned with blood and gold. Raúl closed his eyes, but Endre bit him on the underside of his jaw, hard enough to bruise. 

"Stop this," Raúl gasped, the words barely audible. 

"I don't want to," Endre said. "If you can look at me, I can do what I want, too." His tongue was hot on Raúl’s neck, still rolling his nipple back and forth with his fingers, digging in with nails. Raúl made a high, embarrassed noise, his body beating with hot blood. His cock began to thicken, shamefully, against his thigh. Sparks were dancing across his vision, which was fading, the grey of it calling his body to relax. 

"How did you imagine it?" Endre said. Raúl's nipples were throbbing with pain and heat, feeling swollen and sensitive as Endre's hands pulled away. "Did you think I'd shyly roll over for you, whimper and cry as you fucked me with your big cock?" He reached down and grabbed Raúl's cock, roughly tugging on it. Raúl moaned and canted his hips, trying to relieve the pressure. "Is that what you thought would happen?" He slapped Raúl's cock, again and again until it, too, felt hot and sensitive, the pain feeling a distant counterpart to pleasure. 

"I should kill you," Endre said, and Raúl's eyes widened; it was all the reaction he was capable of. "I should kill you and bring you back. I should make you the same as me." 

Raúl struggled for breath. Weren't they the same — hadn't they always been the same? 

He'd once seen Endre cry when a bird flew into a palace window and died, how he’d cradled the little body in his hands. Not now. There was violence in his touch and in his eyes, a bloodlust that was being sated by Raúl's body.

Endre released his arm from Raúl's throat. Raúl choked on the sudden flow of air, coughing and wheezing for breath. His throat was badly bruised; it hurt to swallow. 

"If it was a lie, why are you hard?" Endre said, his movement down Raúl's body sinuous and inescapable. It was worse than being hard. Raúl's cock was painfully erect, a clear bead of fluid welling at the tip. Endre licked it away, mouthing around the head of Raúl's cock with his hot, wet mouth. "Maybe you just get hard for anyone."

"I've never — I don't want — you're my _brother_," Raúl said, choking on the word like a sob. 

"When you've been where I've been," Endre said, "you'll see that matters less — or more?" He licked the full length of Raúl's cock with his tongue, _tasting _him, his burning hands pinning Raúl's hips to the table. 

Raúl squirmed, unable to tell if he was trying to get away or move closer; the pleasure of Endre's mouth was driving him towards spending. He imagined it — his spend dripping from Endre's lips, the curve of his mouth and — no. He had never — he would never think about his brother that way. 

"Suit yourself," Endre said. He rolled Raúl's hips up and licked across his hole, his tongue and teeth sliding against the rim. Raúl cried out, loud enough that the sound bounced off the walls and ceiling of the chamber. Someone would surely hear and come to investigate. _Not yet_, Raúl thought, his mind whirling. His thighs were tight with pleasure, his cock throbbing with blood. _Not before — _

"Not before what?" Endre said, and bent his head to Raúl's hole once more, licking and licking until it began to feel soft and open, Endre moaning his own pleasure into Raúl's skin. Raúl couldn't move, could barely breathe. He didn't know what to do with his hands. He wanted to run them through Endre's hair, press him down — _no_. He wanted to escape. He covered his eyes again, wishing he could cover his ears to quiet the broken moans coming from his own mouth, ragged and unrelenting. 

Raúl didn't think it was going to happen until it did, Endre drawing them face to face and pressing the blunt head of his cock against Raúl's hole. It slipped inside too easily, his body welcoming his younger brother's cock, which was too hard, too hot and too _big_ to be real, the stretch teetering on painful. Raúl arched his back and came, feeling his hot spend splatter onto his belly. 

"So wasteful," Endre murmured against Raúl's lips, rocking his cock into his body. It felt so good, his mind melting into a loop of pleasure. Endre fed Raúl his own come, pressing his fingers deep into Raúl's mouth and stroking along his tongue, kissing him as Raúl choked and tried to open his mouth wider. "Do you still think you don't want it?"

Raúl closed his eyes and thrashed, but Endre pinned him down and thrust deep, deep enough that it made Raúl gasp, knocking the wind out of him. He could feel Endre spending inside him, a hot rush that seemed never ending, until he was sure it would be too much, that it would drip out of him. But Endre's cock didn't go soft, and after a while he was fucking Raúl hard again, his hand coaxing pathetic spurts of come from Raúl's cock. 

"Thank you for bringing me back, Raúl," Endre said. Raúl's skin was slick with sweat; his mind teetered on the edge of shattering, but Endre always brought him back, speaking words that Raúl could barely understand. "When I'm king, you can sit at the foot of my throne and suck my cock — I'll reward you if you can ask for what you want."

Raúl moaned, feeling his cock pulse out more come. Endre fed it to him, and he closed his mouth around his fingers in supplication. 

His runes were smudged between them, their bodies smeared with gold dust and blood. Endre looked holy, burning with consecrated fire, and Raúl could do nothing more than put his arms around him and worship him with his body. 


End file.
